Part one:
After the drugs wore off, she started to think about the future. She couldn't help herself though her heart told her to just live I the moment. The more she thought about it, the more she supposed she should have been repulsed. In truth, the whole idea was, to her, humorous. Here she was, an FBI agent, riding off into the sunset with one of the most vicious killers of modern times. Who knew what their future held? She woke up each morning with a feeling of excitement and anticipation. Where would they go? What would they do? What would she discover about him? This last question thrilled her the most. SO much of him was a mystery; she was never able to predict him and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She cherished their time together, and he appeared to feel the same. He openly adored her and trusted her more than anybody else in his life; letting her see aspects of him no one else in the world would see. Still, in all her thoughts of the future, Clarice Starling had never thought about this. Never. That had been truly naive on her part; she knew from the start that their time was limited. Good things never last.
She sat in his armchair in the study and soaked in his scent that still clung to the throw blanket she clutched around herself. She felt a dull ache all over and a dull dread at her future prospects now. All of her feelings had been blunted with his absence and the tears remained pooled in her eyes. She could never feel strongly enough one way to shed any of the tears. She wanted to. She wanted to cry, to grieve, to be angry with him and break things. Being suspended as she was in the middle of all of these was more torturous than anything else. She both longed for sleep and feared it. One time, she would close her eyes and see his face. Another time, she'd see his shiny new coffin reflecting the rays of the sun. Still another and she'd relive that moment.